


Isn't It Funny (How It Doesn't Really Make Me Laugh)

by synonym4life



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: 1930s, Frottage, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Sex, Steve looks snazzy in some lace and satin and Bucky salivates, Women's Underwear, against satin panties hmmm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 12:16:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonym4life/pseuds/synonym4life
Summary: Steve’s ma wasn’t home for the night. She told the boys to stay in. It was too cold to go out, she’d said, and made them promise to stay inside. Bored out of their minds, they found themselves elbows deep in her wardrobe. When Steve pulled out some ladies’ underwear from the drawer Bucky urged him to put it on, laughing.He doesn’t feel much like laughing now.





	Isn't It Funny (How It Doesn't Really Make Me Laugh)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to gracie137 for being the most wonderfully encouraging first reader of this fic. This one is mostly for you, Grackle <3
> 
> I'd just like to make it clear that Bucky's views on what a boy looks like (having a penis) aren't my own - Bucky's thoughts are a product of his time. The writer's views are such: your genitals do not define you.
> 
> Oh, also, this fic is unbetaed, as I don't usually have short stuff betaed. So, yeah, sorry if there are any mistakes.

The world goes from bustling to hushed in a second.

They’d been having fun. Steve’s ma wasn’t home for the night. She told the boys to stay in. It was too cold to go out, she’d said, and made them promise to stay inside. Bored out of their minds, they found themselves elbows deep in her wardrobe. Scarf by scarf, shirt by shirt, they've pulled them all out. Hat by hat, skirt by skirt, they've put them all on, posing in the mirror, poking at each other when they tried on the heeled shoes, trying to make the other topple over. When Steve pulled out some ladies’ underwear from the drawer Bucky urged him to put it on, laughing.

He doesn’t feel much like laughing now.

He swallows.

He feels ridiculous. He’s standing on the hardwood floor in his grey socks, Sarah Rogers’s winter coat draped over his naked shoulders, the fur around the neck tickling his skin. All he’s wearing underneath is a pair of worn out, yellowed undies. A purple hat rests low on his head, pushing his hair into his eyes. He looks so stupid.

“I look so stupid,” Steve says, eyeing himself in the mirror.

What?

“What?” Steve asks when he notices Bucky staring at him dumbly. Silence settles between them before Bucky realises he should probably say something.

“You don’t.” Bucky forces out — why is his throat strained? “Look stupid.”

Sure, it’s a bit weird thinking that a boy in a dame’s underwear _doesn’t_ look stupid, but Bucky doesn’t think anyone could say Steve does. Yes, maybe the lacy bra Steve put on sticks out funny on his flat chest and maybe the panties are too loose around his thin waist and maybe the cut does nothing to hide his bony frame, but the satin falls nicely over the top of his legs and the lace at the edges is — it is. Nice. It’s nice.

“You look —” Bucky cuts off because he doesn’t know what to say. Steve looks just like Steve always used to look, but different somehow. As if, instead of the clothes changing his appearance, they changed Bucky’s perspective even if he can’t quite grasp the shift yet.

“I look like a girl.” Steve pouts, flicking at the blue lace lying against his thigh. He worries his lower lip as he looks at himself in the mirror. Bucky doesn’t like it when Steve bites his lip. It always gets that unnatural pink tinge to it — doesn’t even go red, like normal lips do — just goes pink, like some sort of early-blooming flower. It’s weird and Bucky doesn’t like it. It makes it hard to look away.

Bucky forces himself to look away, anyway. It doesn’t help because he still sees Steve in the mirror.

“I don’t think you do.” He shakes his head. Trying to ease the awkward atmosphere he’s created, he teases, “No tits for one.”

Funnily enough, but Bucky’s never been quite as aware that Steve wasn’t a girl as he is now that he’s wearing ladies’ lingerie. He tries to stop his eyes from wandering over Steve’s reflection, and fails. He’s never even seen even seen a dame in clothes like this outside of magazines. It’s only normal that he can’t help himself but look. The bra is black but see-through, the lace faint and gentle against Steve’s hollow chest. He can just about see the shape of Steve’s nipple beneath it. The elastic band had fallen beneath Steve’s navel, his hips not wide enough to hold the panties up. In Bucky’s opinion, Steve looks very much like a boy. The faint outline of his dick on the baby blue satin is witness enough.

“You look —” he tries to swallow down his runaway thought at the last second, but he’s too late, “— pretty.”

Embarrassment climbs his spine like a spider with spindly legs, and his cheeks grow warm, the skin high up on his cheekbones reddening. He flicks a nervous glance at Steve and away again, twiddling the pearl necklace he’d been holding in his hand all along, forgotten. Steve flushes too.

“Pretty like a girl,” he sighs, his jaw tight with reluctant acceptance.

“No,” Bucky denies again, finally turning to face Steve for real. He waits for Steve to stop glaring at the mirror and look at him instead. When he does, his eyes don’t quite meet Bucky’s. Steve’s lip is as pink as Bucky predicted. He wants to press his thumb against it.

“Not pretty like a girl,” Bucky continues. And maybe he’s not really thinking straight, maybe he’s gonna get himself in trouble, maybe Steve will punch him for saying stupid shit, but he’s never been able to stop his mouth when it starts running. “Pretty like a boy. Pretty like you.”

Steve’s eyes, so unfocused before, shoot to his and Bucky is pinned in place like a leaf momentarily held down under someone’s shoe. His mouth goes dry at the angry accusation on Steve’s face.

“Sorry, I —” Bucky licks his lips. His feet shuffle of their own accord. “I just —”

Bucky’s never felt this...tension between them before. It makes his stomach churn and the muscles in his thighs twitch. It’s strange. Usually, everything is easy between them.

“Oh.” Steve’s eyes soften. The tightness in the corner of his mouth loosens up, but he flushes even harder. “You meant it.”

“I — yeah.”

Steve’s pupils are big, his hair is messy and it sticks up in funny places. He’s close enough that Bucky can see the smattering of freckles across his cheeks. The bra strap had slipped off his shoulder. Without thinking, Bucky reaches out and pushes it back in its place. Steve shivers under his fingers. “Yeah, I meant it.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Bucky steps away, turning his back to Steve. There’s a mess on the floor. Coats, shirts and belts are strewn across every surface of the room. If Steve’s ma sees this she’ll never let Bucky visit again. He picks up a heavy woollen cardigan and throws it backwards blindly, hoping it hits Steve in the face. When Steve lets out a yelp, Bucky laughs. Target hit.

They change back into their own clothes and start cleaning the mess they made, trying to fold the clothes as precisely and as neatly as Sarah Rogers does. Everything goes back to normal between them. Steve is still Steve, skinny, righteous and annoying, but Bucky can’t shake the feeling that something’s changed inside him. A shift of perspective. As if he’d been looking at Steve from the side all along, and he only saw him from the front for the first time today.

 

~~~~~~

 

Bucky’s about to doze off with a book in his lap when the front door finally creaks open and he sees Steve take his coat off, hanging it neatly on the hook beside the door. He takes his shoes off next and puts it next to Bucky’s, straightening the other pair as well. He looks up, through the threshold of the bedroom door that Bucky always leaves open, and smiles when he sees Bucky watching him. He pads into their room and drops his bag on the lone chair in the corner.

“You left your shoes just lying there again,” Steve scolds him. Bucky doesn’t know what his deal with neatly placed shoes is, but he supposes it’s got to do with Steve having grown up even poorer than Bucky.

“Sorry,” he says like he always does even though they both know the same thing will happen tomorrow.

“You’re not sorry at all.” Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face when he comes closer to the bed. Bucky swings his legs off it, shivering when his feet touch the cold floor. He notices the lines around Steve’s mouth. He looks exhausted.

“Long day?” Bucky asks. Steve steps between Bucky’s knees and tangles his fingers in Bucky’s hair, making him sigh.

“Yeah,” Steve says. He got a job at a marketing company and he does drawings for them, but he still attends the evening art school, so most of the days he comes home completely wiped out. Bucky worries it’s too much, but Steve’s a stubborn bastard and he doesn’t want to hear about it. Besides, it’s the first time they haven’t had to struggle to get food on the table and Bucky can’t say he isn’t grateful. It’s important that Steve gets strong for winter. Just in case…

Steve is staring at him. His face might betray how tired his body feels, but his eyes are vivid. A small smirk stretches his lips, but his Adam’s apple bobs nervously. It happens every time Steve tries being sly — as if he’s not really sure he can pull it off while he’s already pulling it off. He licks his lips and finally says, “Wanna do stuff?”

Stuff. It’s what they call all the things they do that stretch the border of friendship into something neither of them dares name. When they were younger it used to be “Wanna try stuff?” Try, as if it was practice. Practice for what they’d like to do to girls. Neither of them thought to mention that, once they went from kissing to jerking each other off, the practice pretty much stopped being useful to their efforts with the dames. So ‘try stuff’ became ‘do stuff’. Necking, jerking off, sucking, fucking. Sleeping in the same bed. Holding each other. All of it, stuff they’d rather not put a name to. It was easier like that.

“I always wanna do stuff.” Bucky smirks too, pulling Steve closer by the belt. He lifts his hand to Steve’s face and runs his thumb over his plump lower lip before kissing him. Steve feels so good. He’s always felt so good against him, around him, inside him. Steve’s mouth is soft, pliable under his and Bucky melts into the sensation, eyes closed, just feeling. Steve starts pulling Bucky’s undershirt over his head and Bucky gets on with the program, starting on the small buttons of Steve’s plaid shirt. He’s clumsy because Steve’s hands are hot against his back. He breaks the kiss to better see what he’s doing.

When he continues on the next button, Steve’s eyes flick to him nervously, his hand on Bucky’s naked shoulder stilling. Bucky undoes the fifth button and frowns. He pulls the V of the shirt apart and inhales sharply at the scratchy fabric brushing against his fingers.

“Steve,” he whispers. Steve’s fingers twitch nervously against Bucky’s collarbone.

“I just thought…” Steve trails off when Bucky’s fingers hurriedly start on the rest of buttons. The shirt falls open and Bucky almost moans. If he weren’t hard by now, his cock would have jumped to attention in this very second. Fuck.

“ _Fuck._ ” The bra is white, no cup, just a small triangle of white lace, covering Steve’s pink nipples. There’s a smattering of light brown hair on Steve’s chest, a slightly darker trail below his navel. The plaid shirt hangs loose around Steve’s shoulders, a stark reminder of all the lines they’ve already crossed. Bucky’s never cared less. He pulls Steve in by the waist, presses his lips against the lace and blows a hot breath against Steve’s nipple. He feels it harden against his lip just as Steve’s breath catches in his chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Steve,” Bucky mumbles, looking at Steve again. “Have you been wearing this the whole day?”

“Uhh.” Steve swallows, nervous. “Yeah. I — Yeah.”

“Jesus.” Bucky wants to tell him it’s stupid. So fucking stupid. What if someone saw. What if something happened to Steve and they had to take his clothes off. What if someone saw him fixing his bra strap. God, is Steve wearing panties too? Is he wearing soft satin panties that make his dick look so good? Bucky bets he is. Steve doesn’t do anything halfway. And he can’t even tell him it was stupid. He can’t tell him because his own dick is stating exactly how much he appreciates it.

“I just wanted to…” Steve licks his lips nervously. He’d probably noticed Bucky’s internal dilemma. “Remember that time when we were little? When we fooled around with my Ma’s clothes? You told me once that you thought that was the first time you realised. First time you noticed me. Like that.”

How could Bucky ever forget that. Sure, he’d pushed it to the back of his mind after. For years, he’d gone on pretending nothing had changed inside him. But he couldn’t always hold it back. Sometimes, when he spied Steve chewing on a pencil, the thoughts started coming. Sometimes, when he looked at a nice lady, he thought how much prettier Steve was. Sometimes, when he kissed a dame, he wished he was kissing Steve. Until he was, one day. And then he never wanted to kiss another lady ever again.

Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair and keeps talking because when Steve gets nervous he rambles and gives away all of his secrets.

“So I thought, you know, thought you might like it. If you don’t, I’ll take it off. Was a stupid idea anyway —”

“Shut up,” Bucky cuts him off. “Just shut up.”

He pulls Steve in for a kiss and bites on his bottom lip, drags it slowly with his teeth. When he lets go the lip is as pink as he knew it would be. He presses his knuckles against Steve’s chest. Drags them across the sparse hair, then across the bra, rubbing through the lace.

“You wearing some nice panties as well, Steve?” he whispers against Steve’s lips. “Some soft silky satin? Lace at the edge?“

Steve nods. Bucky feels like he’ll never breathe again his chest is so tight, his heart hammering with anticipation. “Show me.”

Steve steps out of his arms, unhooks the belt, slips it through the hooks, and lets it fall to the floor with a thud. When his hand drops to the button on his trousers, it pauses. One look at Bucky, though, is enough to give him courage. Bucky’s pretty certain that his mouth is hanging open dumbly and there might even be some graceless salivating going on, but he can’t really tell because he doesn’t feel his own body at all. All he sees are Steve’s artist fingers deftly unbuttoning his pants, revealing white silky panties inch by inch. Like the belt, the trousers are dropped to the floor, and Steve stands before him, beautiful and vulnerable and hard. This underwear fits him. A bit too well, Bucky thinks, as it leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Before he even realises what he’s doing, he’s brushing Steve’s erection over the tented fabric. Steve inhales sharply and his cock twitches in Bucky’s hand.

“Look at you,” Bucky says, low. He cups Steve’s face with his other hand. “You got all pretty just for me, Stevie?”

“Bucky,” Steve moans when Bucky squeezes. He pushes Bucky’s hand away, crowds against him, and straddles him. His bony knee jams into Bucky’s hip and Bucky hisses, but the pain is forgotten as soon as he has an armful of Steve in his lap. Steve’s ass pushes against Bucky’s cock and  _fuck_ it feels so good. Feels even better when Bucky’s palms trail down the bony back, brushing over the bra, before settling on Steve’s satin-clad ass. The fabric is soft and slippery at the same time. Bucky wants to bury his face in it.

Instead, he buries his face in Steve’s neck, kisses him. He trails upward with his mouth and, when he makes it to Steve’s ear, bites on the earlobe.

“Tell me...” Bucky’s voice is husky, if breathy, when he says it. “You got all dolled up just for me, Stevie?”

Steve’s fingers tighten in his hair, scratching against his scalp, sending shivers down Bucky’s spine. His voice is hoarse when he answers. “You know I did, Buck. Just for you.”

“Good,” Bucky says, following it with a moan when Steve rolls his hips harder. “Wait,” he stops him.

Bucky motions for him to lift up so that Bucky can shimmy his own — gray and completely inconspicuous — underwear down. He can’t get it off properly without dumping Steve onto the floor, so he leaves it bundled around his thighs. His cock is free, though, so he considers the mission a success. Steve moves, taking Bucky’s undressing as a cue, and starts pulling his pants down, too. Bucky stops him with his hand around his wrist.

“No,” he says, voice scratchy. He feels his cheeks flushing when he admits. “I want to. I want to feel it. Against my cock.”

The way Steve looks at him makes Bucky feel hot all over. There is hot liquid pooling in his groin, in his chest, his cheeks. He swallows, but his throat is tight. Tight and hot. Steve wraps a clammy hand around his neck and slowly, purposefully lowers himself down on Bucky’s lap, onto his cock. His satin-clad hard on brushes against Bucky’s stomach moments before his ass settles, warm and silky, against Bucky’s erection. When Steve moves, Bucky’s hands flounder, not knowing where to touch, how to touch. Overcome with sensation, he settles them on Steve’s thighs, slides them up, under the lace, under the satin and squeezes. Fuck, Steve feels so good.

“You’re so pretty, Steve. So fucking pretty for me,” he gasps into Steve’s collarbone. Steve lets out a whine. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s back, pulling him close. He tangles one hand in his hair and lets the other dip low on Steve’s back, then lower, under the waistband until he’s sliding his fingers along Steve’s crack. Steve kisses him, rushed and sloppy.

“Touch yourself for me,” Bucky begs because he won’t last one more fucking minute. Steve presses his sweaty forehead to Bucky’s and dips his hand inside his panties, palming his cock. Bucky doesn’t know what he did right in his life to deserve this. He’s so hard his cock’s about to burst, but more importantly and, perhaps, worryingly so, is his heart. He is consumed by all that Steve is and all that Steve was and will ever be, and he doesn’t think there will be a moment in time where he’ll be able to forget that Steve’s name is written all over his soul. Tangled into the very essence of Bucky.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, bringing Bucky back into the moment. They are both sweating and breathing hard.

Bucky’s gips his hand lower into Steve’s ass crack and presses against his opening. He circles it with his finger, teasing, pushing and letting go. Steve’s hips are erratic now and, _shit,_ Bucky wishes Steve would come first. It’s not happening, though, Bucky’s too high strung and the mere thought of the silky fabric rubbing on his cock almost makes him orgasm. Steve moans, low and breathy in his ear, Bucky’s name on his tongue, and Bucky’s coming. Just like that, unprompted, his body seizes up, his hand on Steve’s neck tightening, his nails scratching into the soft skin, as he spills right onto the sinful fabric.

“You came.” Steve’s eyes are wondrous when he pulls back a bit.

“Well,” Bucky says a bit embarrassed even though he doesn’t know why. “We can’t all have your stamina.”

Steve laughs, small shudders of mirth making him shake in Bucky’s arms. The hotness Bucky felt before, becomes warmth, wrapping around him like a protective blanket. Bucky bends in and bites Steve’s nipple right through the lace in punishment. He pulls him closer in, dips Steve’s head down so that he can mouth along his jaw. “Now let’s get you off too,” he murmurs.

Steve nods minutely, but it’s a shaky sort of nod because Bucky’s finger is against his puckered opening again, pushing in this time. Steve’s hips roll forward into the fist around his cock and then back onto Bucky’s finger. Bucky isn’t pushing in far. Just a little bit, just one knuckle, just enough to tease. Steve’s hips and hand are moving frantically and Bucky’s cock, trapped between their bodies, feels raw and sensitive.

“Come, Steve. Stevie,” he whispers against Steve’s flushed cheek, pushes the finger against the walls of Steve’s ass. Steve’s hand jerks, once, twice, and then his body clenches up, one long sigh tearing out of his throat, and he comes. He’s beautiful when he comes. His face is scrunched up into a funny expression but he looks soft, uninhibited. His eyes shoot open, flooring Bucky with the truth in them. With the intimate, raw truth. For a while, they look at each other like that. Steve’s hand still on his cock, Bucky’s finger still in his ass. Then Bucky slowly and carefully pulls out, and wraps both his arms around Steve’s back, pressing his face into the crook of his neck.

Steve does the same and they sit, holding each other, breathing together, being together. Never in his life has Bucky felt so loving. Never in his life has he felt so loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Holla at me if you love Steve in lace! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [synonym-for-life](https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you liked this fic help a gal out by reblogging [this post](https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/post/182577476936/isnt-it-funny-how-it-doesnt-really-make-me). I'm new to the Stucky fandom, so it would mean a lot. <3


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